


McGraw's Mahogany Cock Emporium

by AstronautSquid



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Canon, business husbands, dildo economics, pure idiocy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautSquid/pseuds/AstronautSquid
Summary: Our business motto: "Fuck England."--Thomas finds new and lucrative uses for James' woodworking skills.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Comments: 26
Kudos: 69





	McGraw's Mahogany Cock Emporium

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even fucking know when I started writing this, but it's been almost two years I'd bet. There's bits and pieces of more, and I'm tempted to work further on those just so I can have something I can call the Dildo!Verse.
> 
> Extremely dumb and fluffy. I've given up and just accepted there is nothing more I can do to this to make it better, so amusing idiocy it is.

James would never have accused Thomas of being an inattentive lover, but tonight he couldn't help but notice his husband's focus slipping. It did concern him a little, given that James had been riding Thomas rather enthusiastically for the past minutes.

“What's distracting you?”

Thomas took a moment to respond—possibly only because the sudden lack of movement above him had alerted him that his attention was requested.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I said, what is distracting you? You're not usually so absent when we're in bed.”

James was prepared to give comfort, to soothe away painful memories or regrets; the kind that still preyed upon them both, always at the most inopportune moments. He was already reaching behind him to give Thomas' thigh a reassuring squeeze.

“I was thinking of Miranda's toys and how I miss having something up my arse while fucking you.”

The reassuring squeeze turned into nails digging abruptly into Thomas' flesh.

James, being ever-practical, decided to work around the absolute need for having this conversation by making Thomas recount in detail why he missed that particular pleasure so much. He silently thanked God for his eloquent lover. Finishing took no time at all.

“Now,” James wheezed into Thomas' dishevelled hair—once he had taken care of the worst mess with a boneless hand and a cloth. “Again—why? In more practical terms.”

Thomas shrugged. His fingertips rubbed aimless shapes across James’ chest, catching on the dusting of red hair. “It just came to me. We had fun trying that, didn't we?”

“You did.”

“And I introduced you to that enjoyment, don't play coy now.” Thomas gently pinched James' arm. “You just made me describe in lurid detail what we got up to. And if I'm not mistaken, hearing me tell it made you come so hard you almost passed out.”

James snorted and pressed his face into Thomas' damp neck.

“So I came to thinking... Maybe...”

“There's nowhere to buy that sort of thing here, Thomas. I wouldn't even know where to look. It's not as if we could just walk into a shop and ask for a mahogany cock.”

“Isn't it just so _very_ lucky, then, that my lover is a woodworker?”

James spluttered.

\---

James wasn't sure what burnt hotter, his cheeks or his ears, as he watched Thomas assess with wide eyes what he had been called to the bedroom to see.

“Did you—“

“Yes,” James said quickly. In retrospect he wasn't quite sure what question he had even anticipated.

Thomas picked up the offering waiting for him on the sheets. Smooth, rich cherry wood, made lustrous with lacquer. James rubbed the pad of his thumb across his fingertips, back and forth, while waiting for a reaction. Wordlessly, Thomas ran the shaft through his palm and smoothedhis thumb over the place where it was crowned by a knob in the roughest approximation of nature's design. The shape was rather crude; James had made it on his lathe the way he would turn a table leg, so it lacked the sloping curve of an erect cock. Fashioning a head had been the greatest attempt at sophistication. Otherwise he had mostly tried to get the girth right, to remove all bumps that might catch uncomfortably, to find a lacquer that wouldn't chip or be affected by the application of oil.

“Just for me?”

James nodded, hands restless. They stilled when Thomas leant in for a lingering kiss.

“I think you should help me try it out.”

A liquid jolt went through James' core and by way of a response he pushed at Thomas' shoulder to topple him, laughing, onto the bed. Then he retrieved the oil before joining his lover.

“Good?” James panted the question into Thomas' ear some minutes later, as though _he_ were the one with a length of wood up his arse. Thomas bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut more tightly as James added a slow twist to the steady in and out.

“Very,” was the sole reply, along with a hint of nails in James' shoulder.

Thomas soon grabbed James' unoccupied wrist and tried to draw it towards his groin. He blinked in confusion when James resisted.

“Didn't you say you wanted something up your arse while fucking me?” James said and watched Thomas' face work through hazy realisation into eagerness.

James had to admit that he tended to lack his usual dexterity when he was being sweetly plowed by his husband. Pressing a finger to Thomas' entrance tended to be the most he trusted himself to do.

Thus it was that James found himself struggling to kiss his lover and enjoy being fucked and maneuver the unfamiliar shape of the wooden cock into the most advantageous position all at the same time. He was a little afraid that the toy would slip all the way inside or slide out altogether, given how generously they had slicked it. His grip on the oiled, lacquered wood was more precarious than he would have expected: he had underestimated how long the shaft would have to be to make penetration enjoyable and fit a guiding hand both.

“James,” Thomas panted against his cheek, “can you—?”

And James, to his chagrin, wasn't quite sure if he _could,_ not like this, so he mumbled a brief warning before pulling the toy out—noting Thomas' little gasp when the thick head caught on his rim—and replacing it with two fingers. Thomas made a garbled sound as James went right for that good spot, though the angle was still awkward on his wrist, and James sighed at the warm wet pulses of Thomas' release inside him. Thomas didn't lift his mouth from James' when he pulled out and moved to sit on James' hips. He reached back to align them, more than adequately prepared after all this, and slid the tight heat of his body down over James' length. James lasted only a few thrusts.

After, they lay on their backs, hands intertwined, with the toy between them on the sheets. Thomas pressed James' hand, pulling on his wrist just lightly, and James followed with the ease of a stone rolling downhill and turned to kiss Thomas.

“How does the receiver feel about his gift? I should think that after such a thorough inspection, you'll have an opinion as to its merits and deficits.”

Thomas might have laughed or simpered, amorous and airy. Instead he squinted at James—their faces were very close—and spoke with all the earnestness he appeared capable of marshaling in the wake of their newest exploit.

“I did notice there were some difficulties,” he said factually. “I think the lack of curve in the shaft complicates matters.” He reached for James' hand and gently massaged the palm and fingers. James groaned; he hadn't realised how cramped they had been. “And an adjustment to the length and shape might also make it easier to hold. It shouldn't be uncomfortable for you. It's also quite hard of course, there's no give when tensing up. But,” and he leaned in for a peck on James' cheek, “that is one of the advantages flesh holds over wood, and I think there's no way or need to change _that.”_

James looked at him for a moment in silence, overwhelmed by how ridiculous his lover was and how much James adored him. He pulled Thomas closer by his ears for a kiss and then scrambled for a piece of paper.

Thomas' brows rose as he watched James scribble. His soft exclamation of “really?” was industriously ignored.

“Shape, you said?” James rolled his lips inward. “Add a curve? How did you like the head? It caught a little when I pulled it out, was that pleasurable at all?”

“You are an absolute madman,” Thomas said and draped himself over James' shoulder to peer at the paper and add notes of his own. “And I, of all people, am allowed to say that.”

\- - -

The next attempt was better in shape, carved instead of turned. Unfortunately, James had decided to use a different lacquer to bring out the delicate stripes of the hackberry wood, and it must have cracked at the tip after James had done his inspection, subtle enough not to be noticed. After the act, fine dark lines spread where moisture had been drawn into the wood beneath the glossy finish.

“Other lacquer next time,” James said.

“I like the shape of the head much better,” Thomas said. “I think it might taper a little more towards the tip though. Make it easier to insert.”

“Mhm.”

They jotted down notes and went to make dinner.

\- - -

“What's wrong, love?”

“One of the toys is gone.”

Thomas raised his brows.

“Which one? The one with the knobbly bit at the bottom?”

“No—one of those four I carved from the oak limb. I set them all next to each other in the shed to finish drying properly. I forgot about them while I was working on the next, and now one is missing.”

James stood indecisively in the doorway, free hand twitching by his side. Thomas rose to slip his own into it.

“You're sure?”

“Quite sure. I had to make one twice because it came out much too large the first time. The first is gone.”

“Don't worry,” Thomas assured him with a gentle rub of his thumb. “I'm sure it only fell down and rolled behind a crate. Or a cat managed to get in and escaped with it.”

James wasn't convinced. “What would a cat want with a wooden cock?”

“What would a thief want with one?”

Thomas spent the rest of the evening trying to distract James from his somber pondering. By the time James fell asleep with his nose tucked into the sweet-smelling collar of Thomas' shirt, he felt more at ease, if still confused.

\- - -

“Thomas?”

“Yes, oh lustrous dawn of my soul?”

“What is this?”

Thomas looked up from his book.

“I dare say it's a piece of paper, oh benevolent ruler of my heart.”

“I can _see_ that.” James' frown was as firmly in place as before. Thomas had rather hoped the ridiculous epithets would smooth it out somewhat. “What I meant to say is, why is an English lord asking me for a wooden cock?”

“Mh.” Thomas took his time marking his page before answering. “I should think that given the fun we had with it, I rather hoped you'd remember why. How else do you think I—“

“What I _meant_ is, an English lord that is not you. Why has this man sent me a letter praising the fine handiwork of my, wait, let me find it... my _giver of joy which does so artfully inspire lusty sentiment?”_

“Henry wrote that?” Thomas grinned and made to snatch the paper but James pulled it away quickly.

“Henry, is it?”

“Oh, let me _see—”_

Some further tusselling saw them sprawled half-on, half-off the couch, with Thomas trying in vain, despite his long arms, to pluck the letter from James' hand.

“Alright, alright, just—will you at least read it to me, James?”

That, James was more than willing to do, though he kept his knee where it lay across Thomas' stomach, just in case.

“So this Henry believes I've sent him an oaken cock three quarters as long as my forearm,” James summed up the contents.

“Well not _you,_ per se. I sent it anonymously and simply pointed him to you should he be interested in more examples of your work. I only used your last name, it's not that uncommon. No one would think to make the connection to a Navy officer that disappeared off the face of the Earth a decade ago.”

“And you did this _why?”_

Thomas pushed James' knee off him and sat up. “Didn't you pay attention? He's entirely mad about your handiwork, and you could make a pretty sum off sending him more.”

James looked at him in silence for a moment, gaze flitting between the page and Thomas' face. His mind was visibly working behind his eyes.

“You planned on this.”

“Of course I did. Henry is a man with... expansive appetites, so to speak, if I ever knew one. And since it was only one of a batch of four I figured it couldn't hurt too much, though I apologise for having spirited it away without your knowledge.”

“So what now?”

“Now Henry, being both flighty and well-connected as well as a terrible gossip, will do the work for us. If you think London's population of men of our kind are going to pass the next month ignorant of this news, or unwilling to talk about the mystery present someone sent to a man who has been lover to most of them at one point or another, I'll be happy to see time prove you wrong.”

“Time has proven me wrong many times where you are concerned,” James pointed out and oh, it wasn't _fair,_ the way he went soft and grateful around the eyes. How was Thomas to continue being clever in the face of this man?

“Let it be one more time, then,” Thomas said, voice low.

James leant in to kiss him and Thomas pulled him closer to press their mouths together, and in doing so he plucked the letter from James' slack fingers. With a triumphant cry Thomas rolled off the couch and laughed at James' protest while Thomas finally laid eyes on the page.

\- - -

Two more letters arrived in the following weeks.

“I told you,” Thomas said.

James merely nodded, still studying the letters. He felt a little light-headed.

“I'll have to make more cocks,” he said finally over dinner and couldn't keep a straight face at the sight of Thomas snorting into his stew.

They were full of mockery and merriment that night. After they had celebrated by emptying their finest bottle of wine they spent half an hour simply rolling around the bed in each others arms.

“I told you Henry would love your cock,” Thomas said and threw his head back with laughter when James snorted noisily into his shoulder. “The _wooden_ one!”

“Good you're clarifying that.” James propped himself up on an arm. “The real thing isn't up for sale.”

“What about a trade of goods, then?”

Thomas watched James' face go through the acrobatics of trying to perform both an eyeroll and a seductive batting of his lashes at the same time.

“Only for the right sort of clientele,” James said solemnly and shifted onto his side. He draped one arm over his flank so that his hand framed his manhood enticingly. “And only for the right offer.”

“Oh?”

“I need to see the quality of the goods before accepting.”

“That can be arranged.”

“I _am_ all arranged, what are you?”

“Absolutely terrified at the knowledge that after this ludicrous display I am still just as eager to fuck you silly as before.”

James grumbled something about “ludicrous” but Thomas pressed a hand over his mouth and quickly replaced it with his own lips.

**Author's Note:**

> It's started to feel real lonely in the Flinthamilton tag, any feedback is appreciated!


End file.
